Those who please to consult old domestic receipt-books of the last century, will find the whole process very exactly described therein.
‘Be the powers, Sorr, that was the stuff!’ said O’Flaherty, discussing the composition afterwards, with an awful shake of his head; ‘my chops wor blazing before you could count twenty.’
It was martyrdom; but anything was better than the incapacity which threatened, and certainly, by the end of five minutes, his head was something better. In this satisfactory condition — Jerome being in the back garden brushing his regimentals, and preparing his other properties — he suddenly heard voices close to the door, and gracious powers! one was certainly Magnolia’s.
‘That born devil, Juddy Carrol,’ blazed forth. O’Flaherty, afterwards, ‘pushed open the door; it served me right for not being in my bedroom, and the door locked — though who’d a thought there was such a cruel eediot on airth — bad luck to her — as to show a leedy into a gentleman, with scarcely the half of his clothes on, and undhergoin’ a soart iv an operation, I may say.’
Happily the table behind which he stood was one of those oldfashioned toilet affairs, with the back part, which was turned toward the door, sheeted over with wood, so that his ungartered stockings and rascally old slippers, were invisible. Even so, it was bad enough: he was arrayed in a shabby old silk roquelaire, and there was a towel upon his breast, pinned behind his neck. He had just a second to pop the basin under the table, and to whisk the towel violently from under his chin, drying that feature with merciless violence; when the officious Judy Carrol, Grand Chamberlain in Jerome’s absence, with the facetious grin of a goodnatured lady about to make two people happy, introduced the bewitching Magnolia, and her meek little uncle, Major O’Neill.
In they came, rejoicing, to ask the gallant fireworker (it was a different element just now), to make one of a party of pleasure to Leixlip. O’Flaherty could not so much as hand the young lady a chair; to emerge from behind the table, or even to attempt a retreat, was of course not to be thought of in the existing state of affairs. The action of Puddock’s recipe was such as to make his share in the little complimentary conversation that ensued very indistinct, and to oblige him, to his disgrace and despair, when the poor fellow tried a smile, actually to apply his towel hastily to his mouth.
He saw that his visitors observed those symptoms with some perplexity: the major was looking steadfastly at O’Flaherty’s lips, and unconsciously making corresponding movements with his own, and the fair Magnolia was evidently full of pleasant surprise and curiosity. I really think, if O’Flaherty had had a pistol within reach, he would have been tempted to deliver himself summarily from that agonising situation.
‘I’m afraid, lieutenant, you’ve got the toothache,’ said Miss Mag, with her usual agreeable simplicity.
In his alacrity to assure her there was no such thing, he actually swallowed one of the bags. ’Twas no easy matter, and he grew very red, and stared frightfully, and swallowed a draught of water precipitately. His misery was indeed so great that at the conclusion of a polite little farewell speech of the major’s, he uttered an involuntary groan, and lively Miss Mag, with an odious titter, exclaimed —
‘The little creature’s teething, uncle, as sure as you’re not; either that, or he’s got a hot potato in his poor little mouzey-wouzey;’ and poor O’Flaherty smiled a great silent moist smile at the well-bred pleasantry. The major, who did not choose to hear Mag’s banter, made a formal, but rather smiling salute. The lieutenant returned it, and down came the unlucky mortar and a china plate, on which Puddock had mingled the ingredients, with a shocking crash and jingle on the bare boards; a plate and mortar never made such a noise before, O’Flaherty thought, with a mental imprecation.
‘Nothing — hash— ‘appened — Shur,’ said O’Flaherty, whose articulation was affected a good deal, in terror lest the major should arrest his departure.
So the major and tall Miss Magnolia, with all her roses and lilies, and bold broad talk, and her wicked eyes, went down the stairs; and O’Flaherty, looking with lively emotion in the glass, at the unbecoming coup-d’œil, heard that agreeable young lady laughing most riotously under the windows as she and the major marched away.
It was well for Judy, that, being of the gentler sex, the wrath of the fireworker could not wreak itself upon her. The oftener he viewed himself in the pier-glass, trying in vain to think he did not look so very badly after all, the more bitter were his feelings. Oh, that villainous old silk morning gown! and his eyes so confoundedly red, and his hair all dishevelled — bad luck to that clar’t! the wig was all right, that was his only comfort;, and his mouth, ‘och, look at it; twiste its natural size,’ though that was no trifle.
‘Another week I’ll not stop in her lodgings,’ cried poor O’Flaherty, grinning at himself in the glass, ‘if she keeps that savage, Judy Carrol, here a day longer.’
Then he stumbled to the stairhead to call her up for judgment; but changed his mind, and returned to the looking-glass, blowing the cooling air in short whistles through his peppered lips — and I’m sorry to say, blowing out also many an ejaculation and invective, as that sorry sight met his gaze in the oval mirror, which would have been much better not uttered.
CHAPTER XV.
ÆSCULAPIUS TO THE RESCUE.
It was not until Puddock had returned, that the gallant fireworker recollected all on a sudden that he had swallowed one of the bags.
‘Thwallowed? — thwallowed it!’ said Puddock, looking very blank and uncomfortable; ‘why, Thir, I told you you were to be very careful.’
‘Why, why curse it, it’s not, ’tisn’t — — ‘
‘There was a long pause, and O’Flaherty stared a very frightened and hideous stare at the proprietor of the red quarto.
‘Not what, Thir?’ demanded Puddock, briskly, but plainly disconcerted.
‘Not anything — anything bad — or, or — there’s no use in purtendin’, Puddock,’ he resumed, turning quite yellow. ‘I see, Sir, I see by your looks, it’s what you think, I’m poisoned!’
‘I — I — do not, Thir, think you’re poisoned,’ he replied indignantly, but with some flurry; ‘that is, there’s a great deal in it that could not pothibly do you harm — there’s only one ingredient, yes — or, or, yes, perhapth three, but thertainly no more, that I don’t quite know about, depend upon it, ’tis nothing — a — nothing — a — seriouthly — a — But why, my dear Thir, why on earth did you violate the thimple directions — why did you thwallow a particle of it?’
‘Och, why did I let it into my mouth at all — the divil go with it!’ retorted poor O’Flaherty; ‘an’ wasn’t I the born eediot to put them devil’s dumplins inside my mouth? but I did not know what I was doin’ — no more I didn’t.’
‘I hope your head’th better,’ said Puddock, vindicating by that dignified enquiry the character of his recipe.
‘Auch! my head be smathered, what the puck do I care about it?’ O’Flaherty broke out. ‘Ah, why the devil, Puddock, do you keep them ould women’s charrums and devilments about you? — you’ll be the death of some one yet, so you will.’
‘It’s a recipe, Sir,’ replied Puddock, with the same dignity ‘from which my great uncle, General Neagle, derived frequent benefit.’
‘And here I am,’ says O’Flaherty, vehemently; ‘and you don’t know whether I’m poisoned or no!’
At this moment he saw Dr. Sturk passing by, and drummed violently at the window. The doctor was impressed by the summons; for however queer the apparition, it was plain he was desperately in earnest.
‘Let’s see the recipe,’ said Sturk, drily; ‘you think you’re poisoned — I know you do;’ poor O’Flaherty had shrunk from disclosing the extent of his apprehensions, and only beat about the bush; ‘and if you be, I lay you fifty, I can’t save you, nor all the doctors in Dublin — show me the recipe.’
Puddock put it before him, and Sturk looked at the back of the volume with a leisurely disdain,
but finding no title there, returned to the recipe. They both stared on his face, without breathing, while he conned it over. When he came about halfway, he whistled; and when he arrived at the end, he frowned hard; and squeezed his lips together till the red disappeared altogether, and he looked again at the back of the book, and then turned it round, once more reading the last line over with a severe expression.
‘And so you actually swallowed this — this devil’s dose, Sir, did you?’ demanded Sturk.
‘I — I believe he did, some of it; but I warned him, I did, upon my honour! Now, tell him, did I not warn you, my dear lieutenant, not to thwallow,’ interposed little Puddock, who began to grow confoundedly agitated; but Sturk, who rather liked shocking and frightening people, and had a knack of making bad worse, and an alacrity in waxing savage without adequate cause, silenced him with —
‘I p-pity you, Sir,’ and ‘pity’ shot like a pellet from his lips. ‘Why the deuce will you dabble in medicine, Sir? Do you think it’s a thing to be learnt in an afternoon out of the bottom of an old cookery-book?’
‘Cookery-book! excuse me, Dr. Sturk,’ replied Puddock offended. ‘I’m given to underthtand, Sir, it’s to be found in Culpepper.’
‘Culpepper!’ said Sturk, viciously. ‘Cull-poison — you have peppered him to a purpose, I promise you! How much of it, pray, Sir (to O’Flaherty,) have you got in your stomach?’
‘Tell him, Puddock,’ said O’Flaherty, helplessly.
‘Only a trifle I assure you,’ extenuated Puddock (I need not spell his lisp), ‘in a little muslin bag, about the size of the top joint of a lady’s little finger.’
‘Top joint o’ the devil!’ roared O’Flaherty, bitterly, rousing himself; ‘I tell you, Dr. Sturk, it was as big as my thumb, and a miracle it did not choke me.’
‘It may do that job for you yet, Sir,’ sneered the doctor with a stern disgust. ‘I dare say you feel pretty hot here?’ jerking his finger into his stomach.
‘And — and — and — what is it? — is it — do you think it’s anything — anyways — dangerous?’ faltered poor O’Flaherty.
‘Dangerous!’ responded Sturk, with an angry chuckle — indeed, he was specially vindictive against lay intruders upon the mystery of his craft; ‘why, yes — ha, — ha! — just maybe a little. It’s only poison, Sir, deadly, barefaced poison!’ he began sardonically, with a grin, and ended with a black glare and a knock on the table, like an auctioneer’s ‘gone!’
‘There are no less than two — three — five mortal poisons in it,’ said the doctor with emphatic acerbity. ‘You and Mr. Puddock will allow that’s rather strong.’
O’Flaherty sat down and looked at Sturk, and wiping his damp face and forehead, he got up without appearing to know where he was going. Puddock stood with his hands in his breeches pockets, staring with his little round eyes on the doctor, I must confess, with a very foolish and rather guilty vacuity all over his plump face, rigid and speechless, for three or four seconds; then he put his hand, which did actually tremble, upon the doctor’s arm, and he said, very thickly —
‘I feel, Sir, you’re right; it is my fault, Sir, I’ve poisoned him — merthiful goodneth! — I — I— ‘
Puddock’s address acted for a moment on O’Flaherty. He came up to him pale and queer, like a somnambulist, and shook his fingers very cordially with a very cold grasp.
‘If it was the last word I ever spoke, Puddock, you’re a goodnatured — he’s a gentleman, Sir — and it was all my own fault; he warned me, he did, again’ swallyin’ a dhrop of it — remember what I’m saying, doctor— ’twas I that done it; I was always a botch, Puddock, an’ a fool; and — and — gentlemen — goodbye.’
And the flowered dressing-gown and ungartered stockings disappeared through the door into the bedroom, from whence they heard a great souse on the bed, and the bedstead gave a dismal groan.
‘Is there; — is there nothing, doctor — for mercy’s sake, think — doctor, do — I conjure you — pray think — there must be something’ — urged Puddock, imploringly.
‘Ay, that’s the way, Sir, fellows quacking themselves and one another; when they get frightened, and with good reason, come to us and expect miracles; but as in this case, the quantity was not very much, ’tis not, you see, overpowering, and he may do if he takes what I’ll send him.’
Puddock was already at his bedside, shaking his hand hysterically, and tumbling his words out one over the other —
‘You’re thafe, my dear Thir — dum thpiro thpero — he thayth — Dr. Thturk — he can thave you, my dear Thir — my dear lieutenant — my dear O’Flaherty — he can thave you, Thir — thafe and thound, Thir.’
O’Flaherty, who had turned his face to the wall in the bitterness of his situation — for like some other men, he had the intensest horror of death when he came peaceably to his bedside, though ready enough to meet him with a ‘hurrah!’ and a wave of his rapier, if he arrived at a moment’s notice, with due dash and eclat — sat up like a shot, and gaping upon Puddock for a few seconds, relieved himself with a long sigh, a devotional upward roll of the eyes, and some muttered words, of which the little ensign heard only ‘blessing,’ very fervently, and ‘catch me again,’ and ‘divil bellows it;’ and forthwith out came one of the fireworker’s long shanks, and O’Flaherty insisted on dressing, shaving, and otherwise preparing as a gentleman and an officer, with great gaiety of heart, to meet his fate on the Fifteen Acres.
In due time arrived the antidote. It was enclosed in a gallipot, and was what I believe they called an electuary. I don’t know whether it is an obsolete abomination now, but it looked like brick-dust and treacle, and what it was made of even Puddock could not divine. O’Flaherty, that great Hibernian athlete, unconsciously winced and shuddered like a child at sight of it. Puddock stirred it with the tip of a tea-spoon, and looked into it with inquisitive disgust, and seemed to smell it from a distance, lost for a minute in inward conjecture, and then with a slight bow, pushed it ceremoniously toward his brother in arms.
‘There is not much the matter with me now — I feel well enough,’ said O’Flaherty, mildly, and eyeing the mixture askance; and after a little while he looked at Puddock. That disciplinarian understood the look, and said, peremptorily, shaking up his little powdered head, and lisping vehemently —
‘Lieutenant O’Flaherty, Sir! I insist on your instantly taking that physic. How you may feel, Sir, has nothing to do with it. If you hesitate, I withdraw my sanction to your going to the field, Sir. There’s no — there can be — no earthly excuse but a — a miserable objection to a — swallowing a — recipe, Sir — that isn’t — that is may be — not intended to please the palate, but to save your life, Sir, — remember. Sir, you’ve swallowed a — you — you require, Sir — you don’t think I fear to say it, Sir! — you have swallowed that you ought not to have swallowed, and don’t, Sir — don’t — for both our sakes — for Heaven’s sake — I implore — and insist — don’t trifle, Sir.’
O’Flaherty felt himself passing under the chill and dismal shadow of death once more, such was the eloquence of Puddock, and so impressible his own nature, as he followed the appeal of his second. ‘Life is sweet;’ and, though the compound was nauseous, and a necessity upon him of swallowing it in horrid instalments, spoonful after spoonful, yet, though not without many interruptions, and many a shocking apostrophe, and even some sudden paroxysms of horror, which alarmed Puddock, he did contrive to get through it pretty well, except a little residuum in the bottom, which Puddock wisely connived at.
The clink of a horseshoe drew Puddock to the window. Sturk riding into town, reined in his generous beast, and called up to the little lieutenant.
‘Well, he’s taken it, eh?’
Puddock smiled a pleasant smile and nodded.
‘Walk him about, then, for an hour or so, and he’ll do.’
‘Thank you, Sir,’ said little Puddock, gaily.
‘Don’t thank me, Sir, either of you, but remember the lesson
you’ve got,’ said the doctor, tartly, and away he plunged into a sharp trot, with a cling-clang and a cloud of dust. And Puddock followed that ungracious leech, with a stare of gratitude and admiration, almost with a benediction. And his anxiety relieved, he and his principal prepared forthwith to provide real work for the surgeons.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE ORDEAL BY BATTLE.
The chronicles of the small-sword and pistol are pregnant with horrid and absurd illustrations of certain great moral facts. Let them pass. A duel, we all know, is conceived in the spirit of ‘Punch and Judy’ — a farce of murder. Sterne’s gallant father expired, or near it, with the point of a small-sword sticking out two feet between his shoulders, all about a goose-pie. I often wondered what the precise quarrel was. But these tragedies smell all over of goose-pie. Why — oh, why — brave Captain Sterne, as with saucy, flashing knife and fork you sported with the outworks of that fated structure, was there no augur at thine elbow, with a shake of his wintry beard, to warn thee that the birds of fate — thy fate — sat vigilant under that festive mask of crust? Beware, it is Pandora’s pie! Madman! hold thy hand! The knife’s point that seems to thee about to glide through that pasty is palpably levelled at thine own windpipe! But this time Mephistopheles leaves the revellers to use their own cutlery; and now the pie is opened; and now the birds begin to sing! Come along, then to the Fifteen Acres, and let us see what will come of it all.
Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (Illustrated) Page 106
